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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28593048">The Origins of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonniobonnott/pseuds/bonniobonnott'>bonniobonnott</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Death, F/M, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Torture, Infertility, Miscarriage, POV Second Person</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:47:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,292</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28593048</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonniobonnott/pseuds/bonniobonnott</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>While the tales of the heroes of the Wizarding Wars have been shared time and time again, the tales of those on the other side of the war are often left to fade into obscurity. Lucius Malfoy is known for his crimes committed as a Death Eater, his cowardice, and for his hatred of those he considered lesser than him, but do you know who he was before he ran into Harry Potter prior to his second year? Do you know the man who raised to the ranks of He Who Shall Not Be Named's second in command?  Here is your chance to peak into the life of Lucius Malfoy, and what made him into the man you've read about since 1998.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Abraxas Malfoy/Original Character(s), Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Malfoy Name Lives On</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>After years of writing biographies for both major and minor characters in the Harry Potter Universe, I have decided to tackle one of the most interesting characters in the universe (in my own opinion ), Lucius Malfoy. </p><p>A few things to note before you proceed; this biography is written in the second person as I feel it is one of the best ways to give an overall view of the characters in question, the piece is written featuring both original and canon characters, and finally, this piece is filled with several triggering topics, please be mindful of the tags and understand that the inclusion of these topics does not equal the support of them.</p><p>Now, please enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
    <span class="small">To understand how you came to be the man you are, one first needs to understand where you came from.</span>
  </p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="small">Like many names in the wizarding world, the Malfoy name is one that is associated with wealth and with power. in the years prior to the Statutes of Secrecy, your ancestors spent their time among the royalty of Europe, having a place among the highest society in both the wizarding world and the muggle. The name finds it’s way on the back of Armand Malfoy who followed William the Conquer to England, and it’s through dealing with King William the First that he secures a prime parcel of land in Wiltshire stolen from the farmhands that lived there. It’s not the first time that the fortunes of the Malfoy name are stolen from those less fortunate, and it won’t be the last, as your family only goes on to grow their land holdings by taking it by force until there is more land than your family could ever need, and even then, they always craved more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="small">It’s during the days of high society associations and royalty that the Malfoy manor is built, a fortress grand and large for your family to live in for generations to come. It was built to display your wealth, to display the power that came with your name, and it does just that. As the years passed, the manor is expanded upon little by little as the property and the family grows over the centuries. pieces gifted by lords and dukes fill the halls, and gifts from monarchs are proudly on display. Parties are held, elbows are rubbed, and although your family think they are better, no, know they are better, they know power comes with a price, and alliances are to be kept at all costs. These relationships are maintained for generations, all with the understanding among your ancestors that even the highest-ranking muggle could never touch their own power. They only come to an end whenever the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy is passed in the seventeenth century. While those relationships were regrettably lost, the descendants of Armand Malfoy wasted no time in establishing others, this time grounding themselves around the Ministry of Magic, weaving themselves into the fray so tightly that a wrong move could undo it all, and that was just where they wanted them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="small">With their place in wizarding society secured, the Malfoys simply needed to keep the line alive, to keep the name alive. the task was seen as a responsibility, one that your family took seriously, and for years the legacy of the Malfoy name was secure, with their numbers large, and entire generations of the family filling the manor to the brim. Over the centuries though, the family grew smaller and smaller, sometimes out of great loss, plagues that ravaged your family, sometimes due to struggles to conceive, sometimes due to an overabundance of the fairer sex, and sometimes due to conflicts outside of the control of the family. By the eighteen sixties, there was a single-family living in the manor, the family of Balthasar Malfoy and his wife. As war ravaged the colonies ( who fancied to refer to them as an entirely different name, despite the nation practically unraveling in under a century ), the Malfoy name was in a state of conflict themselves. Balthasar and his wife had managed to have seven children, more than a healthy number for any couple, especially when the family name was in peril at every moment. Four sons, three daughters, plenty of opportunities for the name to be carried on, and start a new dynasty for the Malfoy name. The tragedy came in a break out of spattergroit throughout the family, a terrible disease that took it’s toll. over the course of several months, it claimed the lives of Balthasar, and six of the children one by one, leaving his widow and the only surviving child, Amadeus, to clean up the pieces.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="small">If Amadeus did not provide an heir, you never would have been born, and the malfoy name would have come to an end, leaving the Malfoy manor to rot and fall in disrepair and ruin, the deserving end to a legacy built on the backs of stealing and lying it’s way along. His mother, your great grandmother, was determined to see her husband’s dream through and married her son of mere days after his seventeenth birthday to a witch from a family just as old and revered as your own. The weight of the family name, the legacy of it all weighing down on his shoulders, it would have caused most to crack under the pressure, but your grandfather promised himself that he would keep it going it if was the last thing he did, and it was. As it seems, while the spattergoit hadn’t claimed the life of Amadeus Malfoy as it made the rounds through the Malfoy manor, it had weakened him significantly, and while his wife was eight months along, he succumbed to a disease most would think nothing of at all. Now, now the pressure remained on the child in your grandmother's belly, and a month after she had buried her husband alongside his siblings and his father, she gave birth to a baby boy, Abraxas Malfoy in May of eighteen ninty-three. As your grandmother sobbed, her husband’s mother picked up the baby that would eventually become your father and said five simple words: The Malfoy name lives on. Those five little words paired with a legacy of manipulation and greed define the way you will grow up, and they will doom you to be formed under the pressure of it all.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Three Wives of Abraxas Malfoy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="small">While your father still had a mother, it was his grandmother who raised him with a firm hand. He grew up in the same manor as his father had, and his father before him, so on and so forth, and underneath his grandmother's hand he was raised to be the heir to the house of Malfoy. Sorted into Slytherin, he was everything his grandmother could have hoped for him to be, and although she died shortly after his wedding day, her words still echoed in his ears for years to come: The Malfoy name lives on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="small">It’s through the portraits your father keeps in a drawing room stored away from the public eye that he was first married to Milicent Fawley. She had light brown hair immortalized at chin length, frozen at the age of thirty-two in the portrait as she busies herself with admiring herself in the mirror. The brush strokes are kind to a face that has clearly seen hardship, and although she is a beautiful woman, it is evident she was tired. Her hands are clasped, nails painted a silver color that compliments her forest green gown. In the mirror you can make out her brown eyes, and her lips painted a warm red in an attempt to bring life back to her face. If you were quiet enough whenever you approached her portrait, you might catch her fixing her hair with her willowy fingertips with the snake ring wrapped around ring finger, looking as if she was about to say something before her fingertips came to rest on her stomach and she looked down. The instant you were found out though, her hands are back in their clasped position, and her face is like stone in the mirror, looking back at you nearly as lifeless as any muggle portrait. It’s through gossip at parties that you learn that Milicent had been the same age as your father, a Slytherin, a gifted potion maker in her day, and as brilliant as any husband could hope. Their marriage had been something between an arrangement and a love match in the beginning, and some even say the smiles they shared on their wedding day were completely and utterly genuine. The pair had trouble conceiving, and despite potions, elixirs, and every old wives tale, they were left childless and their efforts stole the light from the lives of the formerly spirited witch. It was fifteen years into the marriage that she finally found herself pregnant, much to the delight of herself and her husband, but it was not to be, as the pregnancy was too much for mother and child to bare, and before forty weeks had passed he found himself burying them both into the ground. Some claim what kindness and love your father had was buried with them, but you’ll never know, and Milicent would never speak to you despite your best efforts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="small">The second portrait that joins Milicent in her solitude of the drawing-room is of your father’s second wife, the former Amara Shafiq. in stark contrast to any other portrait among the Malfoy collection of those who came before you, her skin in warm and she looks radiant in the scene painted in the garden of the grounds. Her skin is sun-kissed as her hair is all covered, save for a lone black curl that escapes the pink shaw and rests along her cheek, and her honey-colored eyes are focused on a text written in a language you don’t recognize, but the characters are gorgeous and incredibly ornate. she is seated on a stone bench, a warm red dress draping her as she admires the book, flipping through the pages one after the other, a familiar looking snake shaped ring on her finger, though this time in gold to better match her complexion. You try to talk to her too, on more than one occasion, and when she looks up to you, she simply shushes you and gets back to her reading in the never ending midday sun. Amara was a ravenclaw, brilliant yet reserved, though if looks could kill, a steely gaze from those honey eyes could have turned any man to stone. She marries your father five years after Milicent’s unfortunate passing, and while they were able to conceive, no child of theirs ever survived past the first trimester. As it would turn out, she was dealt with a blood curse from her mother’s side, and it slowly but surely ate away at her, and by the time that she passed away on a winters morning after sixteen years of marriage, heartache, and misery, you are told she too shared no resemblance to the radiant woman in the portrait you grew up admiring. You prefer to imagine her the way she appears in the portrait, forever stuck in a perfect day, admiring her book, in perfect health. sometimes you wonder if seeing the picture is too painful for your father, and that is the reason it joins Milicent in the drawing room, but you never ask, and you’re left with more questions than answers that Amara will never offer you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="small">His third wife is the woman that would finally give him what he desired most in the world: you. Your mother was a twenty year old witch by the name of Elladora Burke, and yet her portrait meets the same fate as her predecessors. In stark contrast to the portraits of Amara and Millicent, your mother isn’t alone in her portrait, no, instead she is holding a baby wrapped in a magnificent blanket adorned with silver snakes and the Malfoy crest, with the snakes enchanted to dance across the length of the fabric. The only signs of the child in her arms comes in the faintest of brush strokes that reveal silver blonde hairs, emerging from the blanket, and the way her arms cradle it so close to her chest. Your mother’s portrait is completed at the age of twenty-one, and her face is still filled with youth, hope, and peace as she rocks you in her arms. Her hair is a much more beaming blonde, more like sunshine than the silver tone your own locks would grow to be, and it is resting on her shoulders as she sways. She smiles fondly, humming a lullaby you recognize immediately, but can’t quite place, walking back and forth her portrait. The story goes that your father had insisted her portrait be captured after she had finally given him a son, but that she had refused to put you down for the painter, so they simply captured her as she was: a glowing young mother to the heir of Malfoy manor. Sometimes, you spend hours focused on the way her stormy grey eyes look down at you as if you’d hung all the stars in the sky, her fingers disappearing beneath the folds of the fabric to caress your face below.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="small">Unlike your father’s previous two marriages, he was significantly older than your mother when she became his bride. The daughter of a witch from a long line of french wizarding ancestry who were renowned for their embroidery, and a member of the sacred twenty-eight, her marriage prospects had always been bountiful. How she ended up with your father is a series of rather unfortunate events, primarily dealing with your father and his business dealings with her father’s shop. Borgin and Burke’s is profitable enough to remain in business, but the amount of wealth your father has is appealing to nearly anyone. So, with a pregnant wife at home, your father and Mr. Burke make a deal, in exchange for an investment, a betrothal would be arranged between his unborn heir and the future heir to Malfoy manor. It was a sound arrangement, two prominent members of the sacred twenty-eight marrying each other would be an agreeable match, and it was better than most. Whenever a new member of the house of Malfoy never arrived, however, it appeared that the arrangement would have to be called off until the unfortunate passing of Amara Malfoy. Now, by technicality only, there was a marriage to be made. While your mothers own father was younger than her husband to be, she follows by the arrangement set for nearly her entire life, and marries your father, becoming Elladora Malfoy at the young age of eighteen. You are born eleven months into their marriage, your mother a first time mother at twenty-one, and your father now a first time father at the age of sixty. Your mother sobbed whenever you were born, tears of happiness and joy as she looked at you, her son, the center of her universe, only for your father to steal you away moments later like a trinket to be shown off. He keeps you for hours, showing you around the family manor, telling you about everything that would one day be yours, eventually returning you to your bedridden mother who in kind refuses to let you go until she practically falls asleep with you held tight against her breast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="small">Your great grandmother is long dead, but a house elf fills the spot, and as the day dies on your first day on earth, she says those five little words: The Malfoy name lives on.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Eleven Years In The Manor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Much to your father’s chagrin, your mother takes a hands on approach to raising you. He protests at every turn, insisting she has more important duties to tend to rather than doing the work of a lowly house elf, duties you would only become aware of as you grew older and more aware, but she doesn’t relent. No, in your earliest days, it’s a rare occasion when she isn’t the one giving you your bottle, or settling you into your bed, and it’s even rarer still when she doesn’t run to your bedside at the first sign of discomfort. While your father had been raised by house elves and kept under the firm direction of his grandmother, your mother wanted better for you, she wanted you to have the world and all the stars above it, and she was determined for you to have it all.</p><p>Your childhood is one spent in the lap of luxury, with everything you could ever need and more at your disposal as you live in a manor that is far too large for any family of three. Still, the ancient estate is your home, and you grow and learn to walk across the same italian marble floors countless generations have over the centuries. It’s in this house that you will be molded like clay, manipulated and formed from an innocent child into a monster, but you don’t know that yet as you wobble around the manor on unsteady legs, house elves chasing after your heels as you go to cling to your mother’s skirts.</p><p>While your first several years are carefree as you are spoiled by your mother with affections, and under constant monitoring by house elves, those years were darker for your mother than you realized until after she is buried deep under the ground. While your father had the heir he had craved for so long, he wanted more, wanted to make a dynasty that would live on for centuries to come, and secure the legacy that had nearly driven him mad all those years. Your mother’s pregnancy with you had been quick and easy, so unlike the pregnancies of his first two wives, he thought that all of them would be like that. With a clock ticking loudly in his ears reminding him of his age, reminding him that he was running out of time, he pushed for her to have more, and she did her best to comply.</p><p>She gets pregnant again when you are three years old, and you’re too young to truly understand what is going on. You do notice that she can no longer pick you up like she used to, no, whenever she kisses you now she leans over and kisses your forehead rather than lifting you up to meet her, and you notice the way her stomach begins to swell. You don’t notice the way her skin is paler than usual, or that she’s sick more often than not, no, she hides that from you as well as she can. She spends most of her time sitting in a rocking chair in your old nursery, working endlessly on a pale pink blanket that she embellishes with roses that bloom as she stitches, humming a familiar lullaby. Some days, in your far too fancy clothes, you sit beside her on the floor while she works, silent as a ghost, admiring the way she works.</p><p>Sometimes she tells you about her family, though only whenever your father isn’t around, not that that’s often. No, he doesn’t show the slightest interest in her past, deeming it irrelevant now. She was no longer Elladora Nurke, no, she was Mrs. Abraxas Malfoy, and her past before their wedding day was inconsequential in his eyes. She talks about how her father worked in the family shop, day in and day out, and about how her mother spent her days at home, taking care of the house and sewing just as she was now. They didn’t have a home like yours, and they didn’t have any house elves to their name, but they were comfortable enough. It’s funny, as a child you can’t imagine not having house elves underfoot, or living in a place any smaller than this, but you still listen greedily for whatever she gives you. Her mother taught her to sew, and she promises to teach you to sew once your old enough, though that promise is made in a hushed whisper, far from where your father’s prying ears could hear and protest. Your mother tells you about the clothes she had at home, hardly the newest fashions, but embellished by the hands of her mother, her sisters, and herself, and that made them worth more than all the gold in Gringotts to her. Your mother never says a word against your father, but you later learn when they’d married he’d forbidden her from bringing her old things into the house, no, it was only the newest things for the newest lady of the house, so just like the family she loved so dearly, the house that she had always called home, and her name, she was forced to leave it all behind when she married him. The only thing from her old life that she’d been able to bring had come in the form of a wedding present from her mother, a hand-crafted blanket. Not unlike the blanket your mother had made for you, with brilliant snakes crawling across the length of the blanket, of like the floral piece she worked on then, it was a masterpiece that had clearly taken countless hours to create. It was a beautiful scene of the country side, with fawns running across the fabric chasing small butterflies from edge to edge, so lifelike sometimes you are sure that you will fall right into the scene. It is your mother's prized possession, and she clings to it at times of great stress.</p><p> </p><p>While your mother works on her blankets, your father takes the opportunity to steal you away, and teach you about the Malfoy history. Your father in his old age laments about the days of old, listing off countless names you could never even begin to remember, telling you their stories, their great triumphs, and the few disappointments among the bunch. He tells you this as he walks along the halls, pointing at portraits older than you could begin to imagine, and the portraits look onto you just as they did the first day your father introduced them to you. he preaches the importance of your family, the importance of what the Malfoy name means, and how utterly important it is for you too to continue the line. If your father ever had an ounce of patience in him, you never see it, as if you show a single sign of losing interest in the stories you weave, he takes you by the shoulders and shakes you violently, screaming at you to make you listen to him. You apologize, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as you promise to do better, promise to be better, and promise to follow in the steps of those who came before you. Every time, he looks at you with rage in his eyes as he finally lets you go, small semicircle bruises left in the wake of his grip on your shoulders that are covered up by the dress clothes you wear day in and day out. His lessons are always harsh as a child, and as you grow older, you grow smarter, and you do everything you can to focus on what he’s saying, for the consequences of not far outweigh the boredom that his lessons conjure. This is how you learn to hate people, how you learn about the ideals of supremacy, and this is how your innocence begins it’s slow and painful death and how you begin your descent into something far less holy.</p><p> </p><p>Your mother loses the baby in the sixth month, and the daughter who never takes her first breath is buried in the pink blanket your mother slaved over for months and months. She gets pregnant again four times in between her first loss and the day you leave for Hogwarts, but none of the children ever live to take a breath. Every pregnancy takes more and more from her, and although her skin is smooth, it losses some of the radiance that used to live there, the radiance captured so beautifully in her portrait, and her health deteriorates along with it. Some days, she is too weak to even thread a needle, let alone make any remarkable progress on a piece. She tries to hide it from you, but you see her struggle, and it makes your heartache. Your father though, where you worry about her, his disdain only grows at her inability to provide him with another heir, or a daughter to use as a bartering chip. Every loss is punished with venomous words delivered in screams that fill the manor walls, countless bottles broken against the walls in his fury as your mother weeps and apologizes, her hands gripping so tightly to the blanket in her hands that her bones threaten to rip through her skin. His anger and disappointment never subside, in fact, they only grow as the years pass, and he shows his displeasure in banishing your mother's portrait from it’s place in the front hall alongside his own to a drawing room on the far end of the manor when you are nearly ten. It doesn’t upset her as much as it upsets you, seeing the house elves attempt to balance the piece as they moved it, causing the younger version of your mother in the portrait to stumble and do her best to remain upright. Your mother spills countless tears apologizing to your father, and promising to do better, and every tear makes your resentment for your father grow more and more. You hate him, you loathe him, and you wish it were him in the ground rather than the bits of your mother’s heart she loses every time she loses another child.</p><p>While the turmoil inside the manor threatens to tear your family apart at the very seams, on the outside, to the public and at parties, you are all the perfect picture of what your family should be. Sharply dressed, well educated, raised with the proper values and virtues, and manners that make harsh commentary acceptable. Attending parties with those in the sacred twenty-eight were important social events, and while they were so vastly important, they were also akin to swimming amongst sharks, giving them a drop of blood in the water would be enough to ruin you, so you learn to smile your sharp teeth back and make your way around the room as if things aren’t falling apart. In some ways, you hate the parties, you hate the façade and charade of it all, but in others you envy it, because at parties, your mother is safe as your father plays the role of the adoring husband, and your father treats you like the prince he acts like you are instead of some insolent child whose behavior needs corrected. Every time, it’s the same song and dance, and by the age of eleven, when the parties end, and you return home, you crave those hours in crowded rooms more than ever as you are returned to the battlefield that is your home. Shortly before your first year at Hogwarts starts, your father moves your mother's room from his wing to the other end of the house, and he avoids her at nearly at all costs, and for awhile, things are better, and as your mother takes you to get onto the Hogwarts express, you only hope that things remain the same.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The School Years</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Going to Hogwarts is an entire affair on it’s own, and while there is pride in your father’s eyes, there is a profound feeling of sadness in your mother’s on the day they wish you goodbye. Abraxas doesn’t bother to come along under the excuse that he has business to attend to at the ministry, and you aren’t bothered in the slightest that he doesn’t see you off. If anything, you are glad you don’t have to see him, glad that you don’t have to pretend to humor him. He see’s you off at the manor, with a firm grip on your shoulder and a reminder to mind your place, and not disappoint, and then he’s off.</p><p>Your mother on the other hand, she sees you all the way to the platform, even though it is obviously one of her bad days. She puts on a brave face, and a smile even though her eyes are the saddest you’ve ever seen them as she cups your face and wishes you well. After fussing with your hair one final time, and a kiss to the forehead, she watches tearfully as you climb onto the train. if she cries, you don’t see the tears fall, and for that you are eternally grateful.</p><p>On the train, you quickly find others that have always attended the same parties you had, and you made small talk all the way to the castle. You’ll never forget the first time you see it, the large ancient thing, and the excitement that floods through you as you enter inside. The first day flies by, and you find yourself in Slytherin, the house of your ancestors, and it hardly comes as a surprise. Your parents express their excitement when they hear the news, though your father’s approval is as worthless as any mudbloods now that you are out of his grasp. You’re out from his thumb, but his lessons stick, and you quickly find a way to make the lessons you learned your entire life work for you inside the castle walls. You make friends, you cling to news of the threat of war, and you study to make the Malfoy name proud.</p><p> </p><p>As you grow older, and grow into yourself, you find yourself having several brief love affairs among the halls of Hogwarts. Some are no more than mere flirtations, always with girls from good breeding, with pretty faces and blood that’s worth it’s weight in gold. as much as you despise your father, you would never muddy the waters, not even to upset him. No, you hate Abraxas, but you love yourself enough – and respect yourself enough – to never lower your standards. You have no idea who you’ll marry, and at the time, you didn’t truly care. to the public, you were the perfect pureblood son, dutiful, attractive, and well-spoken and educated, so what you did in the dark was hardly their concern, especially when nothing comes of it other than whispers among the school gossips.</p><p>For the majority of your teen years, your father is more of a ghost in your life than he is a constant, flitting between affairs with the ministry and with more personal affairs as he tries to arrange a marriage for you. The whole suites you just well, as you instead use your time to spend with your mother, who appreciates every moment of it. she asks about school, about your classes, as if reliving her own school years through you, and you are always happy to tell her. her pride for you is evident, as is her love, and it’s evident in every little action she does. a part of you hoped that it would stay like this forever, your father a shadow in his own home, and your mother left to have some peace.</p><p>All good things come to an end, and it’s between your sixth year and your seventh that your father decides to take an interest in you again, and he shows his interest by teaching you a skill his grandmother had taught him. With the war on everyone's mind and the future of the sacred twenty-eight being brought into question more and more every day, Abraxas had finally deemed you worthy of a lesson in an art that you’ve never even attempted to learn. Legilimency and Occlumency aren’t for the weak, no, they are painful work, and tiresome work, but you never get a say in it. You’re seated in a parlor while your father wreaks through your mind, cursing and insulting you all the while you feel like your head is splitting into two. He taunts you, insults you, anything to rile you up. You see flashes of your first days at Hogwarts, of potions class, of the over the top parties you used to attend, and of the fights that would wrack the manor. It’s torturous, and it’s day in and day out for the entire summer, but slowly you learn, you learn how to keep him out, to keep him from those memories. It’s in these lessons that he teaches you how to protect yourself from your own memories from being used against you, and he teaches you by fracturing some of your most pleasant memories, doing so as a punishment for your failures. Legilimency is an art, but a delicate one, as with anything dealing with the mind, so it should have come as no surprise to anyone that your father, the cruel head of the Malfoy manor he was, he shows you no mercy in your lessons. By the end of the summer, you can block his attempts, and you can even look through his own before he too shuts you out. Your success thrills him, and you’re left struggling to remember those moments where you would sit by your mother’s side and watch her embroider the fabric, yet another thing your father has stolen from you.</p><p>Your seventh year comes and goes with ease, and you graduate with no worries about trying to find a career. The Malfoy legacy is secure in the gold in Gringotts, and if you never lift a finger, you and your posterity will be set for generations to come. With graduation though, comes the ending of your engagement and the countdown to your wedding to Narcissa Black, and time for your skills to come of use, as the war is raging on outside your door, and it’s finally time for you to show your worth.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Loss of a Monarch</h2></a>
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    <p>It was on the brief holiday you and your new bride share to celebrate your new life that your old life falls apart at home. While it was attended to acquaint you and Narcissa, the outcome of the trip will only serve to risk tearing you apart forever. Much in the way that Spattergoit had ravaged the manor whenever your grandfather was a child, Dragon Pox found it’s way into the Malfoy home. Your mother, with her hair still blonde and her face still smooth save for a few lines around her mouth and her eyes, succumbs to the disease just hours after you receive the news of the disease that is afflicting them both. Your father though, seventy-nine, with silver hair and well past his prime survives like the cockroach he is, though through his battle with the disease he loses the use of his legs, now confined to a wheelchair, and his face is marred with scars that even the best cosmetics charms can’t heal.</p><p>You wait to tell your father, not so much by choice but out of necessity, as his fever and the pain keeps him from consciousness for three days before he is aware enough to hear the news. The whole time you wait for him to wake up, you feel bitterness and resentment growing in your chest, and you hope that he doesn’t. Why should your father live when he’d had nearly forty years longer than your mother? Why should a man as foul as he survive when your mother whose only sins were seen in the eyes of your father gone? When he does finally wake up, and you tell him about your mother, he simply rolls his eyes, and mutters something about her weak constitution, and how it should come as no surprise that she couldn’t survive a simple bought of dragon pox at her age considering her mind and body were just as weak.</p><p>Your anger reaches a fever pitch, threatening to boil over, and it is the first time you raise your wand against your father, jabbing it mere centimeters from his face. Something flashes in his eyes as you dare him to say another word against your now deceased mother, dare him to give you a reason to finish what the dragon pox has started. Fire rages in your eyes, and for the first time in your life you feel nothing for your father but true and unadulterated hatred for the man you call a father. You sit in silence, for how long, you can’t be sure, it could have been minutes, it could have been hours, all you know is that by the time that you finally drop your wand, something has changed between the two of you. The pair of you never talk about that moment again, but what happens lives within you both from then on. The transfer of power in the family has been completed, and there is a new lord Malfoy in the manor in Wiltshire. You bury your mother two days later with the blanket her own mother had gifted her on her wedding day. In life it had brought her immeasurable comfort through the hardest of times, and you can only hope that she will feel the same amount of comfort now that she is finally at peace.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. What You Have Become</h2></a>
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    <p>As you balance a new marriage, new responsibilities, and a new oath to the dark lord that comes in the form of a permanent mark on your wrist, you never expect to be able to manage it all, but you have to.</p><p>Firstly, you dedicate yourself to your new master, choosing to do everything in your power to prove your worth. You put on a mask, and become the monster your father had always raised you to be, cruel, cold, calculating in every move. Although the dark lord is an accomplished Legilimens who has no need for the likes of you, he takes to your particular brand. You use the skills your father gifted you with like a weapon, and you use it with your torture. You can get information from a target, and all the while fracture and tear the happier memories along the way. You could use a Cruciatus curse, but you prefer it this way, your hands on their head as you destroy them from the inside out, leaving with your information and leaving a broken person in your wake. Some of them recover with minimal loses, others have entire seasons missing from their collective memory, and some, some simply stare off as they try to put the broken pieces of their mind back together. It’s the cruelty and efficiency of it that appeals to the dark lord and earns you his favor, paired with your ties to ministries foreign and domestic, you are a useful servant, and time and time again you prove your worth, and every time he challenges you with more. You lead attacks, help strategize, and eventually, you become the second in command under your master himself. It’s a proud day, but it’s a day that proves your father right, and for all your mother’s love and care, you’ve become the man your father always wanted you to be, a dutiful solider. Now, now it’s going home and taking off the mask that gets harder, but it gets easier knowing you get to go home to Narcissa Malfoy.</p><p>You don’t expect to fall in love with Narcissa Black when you marry her. It’s not because she isn’t stunning, she is, by far the prettiest of the Black sisters, and the most agreeable of the bunch. If you’d been engaged to Bellatrix you doubt you would have been able to inhabit the room as her, let alone share a bed and your name with her. As for Andromeda, well, it hadn’t taken long for the news of her betrayal of her family to come to light, and he would have never allowed himself to be married off to someone who had debased themselves so publicly, even if his father had willed it. No, Narcissa was by far the best option of the three, and he’d found relief in knowing he was going to be married to someone who didn’t loathe him, and who he didn’t loathe in return. In fact, he liked her enough in school, and in their childhood, so he could see them growing fond of each other, though falling in love had always been out of the question in his own mind. Love was a thing for peasants and fairytales, not what marriages and dynasties were built from, at least, that’s what you believed until you fell madly in love with your bride.</p><p>It happened slowly, over the course of weeks, months, and years, but you fall in love with her. You fall in love with the way she looks whenever she is reading in the afternoon, the way she dances at the parties you both attend out of obligation and out of her enjoyment for them, and the way her eyes light up whenever she is excited about something. It’s the tiniest quirks about her that you never noticed before you were married, such as the way her lips turn up in a smile, that stop you in your traps. Long before you knew you were in love with her, you did your best to treat her well, treat her with respect and give her agency, but slowly you begin to realize you aren’t doing things just to make her comfortable, you are doing them to make her smile, to see the light in her eyes. Your position as the second in command under Voldemort leaves you gone more often than you are home, but those moments at home you use to their fullest extent. By the time you knew you were in love with her, you’d long since accepted the fact that she may never love you, but that won’t stop you from making sure she feels your love, whether it be the tiniest trinkets you bring home to her, to the gentle kisses you place against her forehead, or the way you place your hand atop of hers. Your love story is nothing for ages, no breathtaking thing, but she slowly becomes a sun of your solar system, and you would do anything to stay close to her warmth for just a moment longer, even if it meant you got burned.</p><p>Man of the manor and husband to your wife have taken second place behind your allegiance to the cause, but your solar system realigns, and your wife tells you she’s pregnant everything changes again. You’re going to be a father, a new role to play, a new spot to fill, and your heart blooms with joy. For all your trials and tribulations, you feel like this is a reward for the both of you, a gift that shows that brighter days are on the horizon. The Malfoy house will have an heir, and Narcissa will finally have the child she so desperately craves. There is warmth in your childhood home for the first time in years, and it brings back some memories long buried. So, between your trips at the behest of your lord and master, you find yourself in the long empty nursery, pulling out your mother’s old tools, and starting to work on a blanket the way she’d taught you too all the years before. It wasn’t perfect, no, but it was still stunning as you worked through every stitch. You’re determined to have it ready for when your child takes their first breath, but the moment comes, and the light dies in the house once more. You swallow your own grief in trying to keep the star of your whole world alight, for if her light dies, yours will surely follow soon after. You spend two weeks at home, only leaving with her, and it’s only when the dark lord will wait no longer that you leave again.</p><p>You leave to protect her, you leave because you love her, and you leave because you know the only way the Malfoy legacy will live on, the only way you will live on, is by coming home to her at the end of it all. So, just like you have countless times before, you slip on the mask and become comfortable with the monster you have become, because you have no other choice.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you enjoyed my take on the origin story of Lucius Malfoy!</p>
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